


Battlefield

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Community: angst_bingo, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 23:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>you were there on my side by the frontline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battlefield

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ angstbingo square of "heat".
> 
> Supernatural does not belong to me. This piece of fiction was written for entertainment purposes only, no profit is gained.

There's something he should be trying to remember, but he's forgotten that, too. It's hard to concentrate on anything that isn't the blinding pain on his chest, making it hard to breathe while light and dark flash and fade in sync.  
  
He knows Dean's here. He can feel his brother's hands tearing at his shirt, can hear him repeating "oh shit, oh shit, _oh shit_ ," over and over again, until Sam just tunes it out because he can only focus on one thing at a time. He tries to focus on breathing, but can't find his breathe; he tries to work on moving, but his arms and legs are heavy; last he tries to speak, but there's no voice in his throat. So he focuses on Dean again.  
  
"Sam." he's saying now. "Sam, Sam,  _Sam_."  
  
Sam tries to find his mouth to tell Dean to stop repeating himself, but everything feels weighted down and Sam's tired, so tired, he closes his eyes and the pain lets up.  
  
"Sam!"  
  
His name shatters into his mind and Dean sounds so  _terrified_ that he just has to open his eyes. He to find Dean's face, to tell him that it's okay, that it's all gonna be okay, but he can't even move his head to the side and he can't make out where he is. A field? It must be, something both scratchy and soft is under him and green clouds the edges of his vision.  _Grass_. And it's hot, boiling hot, he must be right under the sun - Dean, too. Why doesn't he  _move_?  
  
"Sam."  
  
Dean keeps repeating his name and Sam can't respond. He tries to swallow down but can't find his tongue. It's too hot, heat burning through his body and scorching his face. He keeps trying to move, but he can't - there's no way he can - and he's trying to figure out just why he's here and just why he's so paralysed in a field of grass with Dean saying, "Sam, Sam, Sam" over and over again.  
  
They were hunting, weren't they? They must have been hunting. It's the only thing that makes sense. A chupacabra? That registers something, but he can't tell if it's from then or now. It's too hot to think, too hot to do anything. He's blaming the heat for the reason he can't move.  
  
"Sammy. Stay with me."  
  
Something new to break it all up. Stay with him? What?  _Oh -- God._  
  
Now he's trying harder to move, tearing at his arms and legs and all of his body. It's happening, no,  _no_ , they got past all of this. Nothing was going to take them away, not this time. Back to hunting, back to the family business, back to the way things  _should have been_.  
  
"Dean..." he gasps out, last ounce of strength. It burns through his throat and on his tongue, just his brother's name and nothing more.  _I'm not going anywhere_ , he wants to add,  _I'm stayin' with you_. He made a promise not too long ago; he was going to follow his brother. Everywhere. He wasn't gonna leave again.  
  
There's another burn on his mouth, this time not as scorching, nowhere near as painful. It's soft, short, and ends with let droplets falling on his cheek.  _No -- no!_  
  
"Gonna get you outta here," Dean says, and his voice sounds murky. "I'm gonna take care'a you."  
  
It's too hot.


End file.
